


Intervention

by Maur



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maur/pseuds/Maur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gods are fickle, but Sidney can't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inalasahl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inalasahl/gifts).



> Doesn't follow the injury/sickness pattern of the 2014/15 season,

Flower was busy with his net, his back turned to centre ice and Sid. The sharp smell of sage rose, and Sid pretended not to notice even as Flower glanced furtively around. The Consol ice was patchy enough without goalies burning offerings, Dana said, but in Sid's view it could hardly hurt.

Even now the puck shuddered in its path as he tapped it back and forth, not the perfect frictionless glide Sid saw in his better dreams about hockey. He brought it under control and lifted it into the air, bouncing it off the blade of his stick and over his shoulder. A sharp turn, and he fielded it with his skate and kicked it back to his stick. The other net gaped invitingly, and Sid took the shot, raising his arms to the empty seats as it went in. He could almost feel the crowd's excitement throb through the arena, and his knees bent slightly to prepare for the impact of teammates.

Then he skated off to fetch his puck and try a few more angles.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when Flower called out “Ready!” and Sid glanced over to see his ash-smudged face vanish into his mask.

A few slow loops down the ice, and when he crossed the centre line he dug his toes in, throwing his weight forward. The puck flicked up obediently when he tapped it just right, and he saw Flower's weight shift, one knee starting to bend, before he realised Sid wasn't shooting.

Then Sid shot, catching the puck at the top of its arc and driving it into the net glove side, Flower's hand rising too late to stop it.

“Fuck,” Flower said on an exasperated blast of air. “I should have seen that.”

He should have. Sid just shrugged, and hooked a new puck from the boards as he made his way back down the ice. The temptation to give Flower a few easy ones rose in him, just a few to give him confidence, so he called out a foul chirp and grinned radiantly.

But Flower knew his game as well as anyone, and if he suspected Sid was going easy on him -

He didn't stop the next one either, butterflied instead of lunged, and neither of them spoke. The hiss of the ice, the tap of the puck – it didn't sink into his brain the way it usually did, drawing him down into a detached euphoria. The surface of his thoughts remained ruffled and unquiet.

Flower stopped a few pucks, but not nearly enough. He seemed to hunch smaller with every missed shot, shrinking inside the shell of his pads. When Sid finally called a halt, he shook off Sid's suggestion of breakfast.

"Should get home; Vero will be wondering, you know." A lie; Vero would be more surprised to see him home early, if he went. As it was, Sid was certain he'd be heading out to the market to buy more flowers, more herbs, to visit more shrines.

Sid liked to think he was less nervy than a goalie, had better coping methods. He did a thorough cooldown, made sure his gear was orderly, sat in his stall and took slow breaths, and finally went out in the chill pre-dawn. He fastened his seatbelt, stared blindly out through the windshield, and then sighed and dug out his phone.

_Can I come over?_

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, watching the sky fade from charcoal to dove, mentally counting down the three hundred seconds until he'd let himself send a second text. His phone hummed at one hundred eight, and Sid glanced at the screen as he started the car.

_bring donuts))))_ it said, and Sid already felt lighter.

 

He let himself through the kitchen door, and put the donuts in the refrigerator. The decal of Jordy was peeling at the edges, and he smoothed it down carefully with his thumb. He could probably find a replacement - well, he could probably bribe Dana to find a replacement. If Geno would want it. He made himself stop fiddling with it and headed toward the stairs, socked feet skating on the polished floor.

There was a candle guttering on the front shelf of Geno's altar, and Sid paused long enough to pinch it out, setting it aside and wiping the dark metallic surface with a tissue from the box below it. The doors of the tiny sanctum were shut; he wondered what it meant, in Russia, to leave the light before a darkened shrine. 

Geno was, unsurprisingly, buried under a quilt. His feet stuck temptingly out, but any interference with them would ensure a bad-tempered morning. No matter how funny it was in the short term, Sid didn't feel up to arguing right now.

He found a corner, and tugged. Geno grumbled and thrust a hand out of his cocoon. It still held his phone, and Sid took it to set on the nightstand, ignoring the grip that fastened onto his sleeve and yanked. When he tried to get into the bed, though, it pushed him back.

"Clothes," Geno said, muffled. "Cold."

He obediently shucked off the outer layer of sweats, and Geno admitted him in shorts and t-shirt, not lifting his face from the pillow as he tried to tuck Sid in.

"I was at the rink," Sid said, and Geno groaned, and put his hand over Sid's face. "No, hey – "

"Sleep or go." Geno's breath was warm and stale. "No talk."

Sid wriggled closer, breathing in the familiar scents of shampoo and fabric softener. He drummed his fingers on Geno's bicep until Geno grabbed his hand and pinned it down.

"No," he mumbled. "Sh."

Their fingers tangled together, the quilt wound round him, Sid shut his eyes and let himself drift.

 

He woke up sticky with sweat, the quilt tucked tightly round him. When he'd kicked his way out, he discovered it was 10am and the faint smell of coffee rose from the kitchen. He took a detour to the en suite to splash cold water on his skin and take a quick swill of mouthwash, and went down to see if Geno had eaten both donuts.

"Wasn't sure which for me," Geno said, angelically, pointing at the plated donut. A large bite had been taken out of it, blueberry jam oozing out of the wound. The only sign of the creme brulee donut was the sugar at the corners of Geno's mouth. Usually, Sid would bitch him out, but he wasn't feeling it today.

"Flower's broken," he said, and Geno raised his eyebrows. "He did a cleaning on his net this morning, and it didn't help a bit."

"Flower broken? Or..." Geno rolled his eyes upwards, as if that would fool any observing deities to thinking he wasn't referring to them.

"Don't you start." He spoke more sharply than he'd meant to; Geno sniffed, and Sid pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, sorry. But if it's that, there's nothing we can do about it, and if we start believing there's nothing we can do..."

A great deal of time and money had already been committed to sanctifying, cleansing, blessing, consecrating, dedicating - you name it - the team, the rink, the jerseys, even the plane. It had long ceased having even the slightest psychological effect on the team, who endured bad luck and blessings with the same patience. They kept playing as best they could.

"Get goalie help," Geno offered. It stung, to think he wasn't the best person to help Flower, but maybe he'd done all he could. Goalies had unique challenges.

"Maybe Lu would help," he said, and dipped his finger in the jam to test it. The fruit clashed with the sharp mint taste of his mouth, and he scrunched his nose. Then he moved the donut away from Geno, noting the predatory look in his eye. "He's had some bad stretches." Geno didn't say anything, and Sid tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice when he demanded, "What?"

He failed quite badly, judging by the consciously soothing expression that Geno assumed.

"Maybe not just Flower having bad time?" Geno said, gently, and Sid gritted his teeth.

"I am _not_ slumping." Not by anyone else's standards, certainly. His point totals were right on his career average. He looked good out there. Most of all, he was healthy.

"No slump," Geno agreed. "Maybe not having fun out there."

Sid turned away, and went to the refrigerator, getting out one of the tiny, overpriced smoothies Geno bought and then never drank.

"Do you want a new Jordy decal?" he said, fingers going to the peeling edge again, but Geno didn't answer. He was, no doubt, fixing Sid with that annoying look again, the one that fell somewhere between _understanding_ and mocking. "We all go through rough patches, okay?"

"And sometimes need help," Geno said.

"You help."

Geno sighed, and then he padded across the kitchen, coming close enough Sid could feel his breath on the short curls at his nape. He put his hand over Sid's, gently detaching it from the decal.

It wasn't quite a hug, and Sid resisted the urge to pull Geno's arm around him, or turn until he could press his face into Geno's neck. Geno would let him, he knew, but it was better not to start down that road. Sid wasn't sure he'd be able to stop; curling into bed with him, just for some company, had gone from a drunken one-off to an emergency comfort to a near routine far too quickly.

"It would help more if you didn't eat my donut." Sid did a better job of sounding light and unconcerned this time. Geno snorted, the rush of air sending goosebumps over Sid's skin, and then moved away. He didn't let go of Sid's hand, tugged him over to the table and kicked out a chair for him.

"Sit. I make eggs."

"You don't have to," Sid said, and was unsurprised when Geno ignored him.

 

He always checked the altar when he first entered the locker room; call it routine or call it superstition. Everything looked normal, candles fresh, knots of ribbon and string, tight-folded pieces of paper, tiny cups and plates with fresh offerings. A pyramid of ashes; someone had been burning, but if they hadn't set off any alarms, Sid wasn't going to say anything. With that captainly duty discharged, he could move on to greeting the team, who were largely unimpressed by the time of day, the state of the weather, and their season so far.

Tanger and Duper huddled together, squashed into Duper's stall and muttering in French so fast and low Sid couldn't catch it without going to stand over them. He considered doing that anyway, but then Tanger extracted himself and crossed to his own stall, eyes cast down. His fingers worried at his pendant, twisting it on the thin chain. Duper frowned into space, hands moving slow on his gear, as if he were already worn out.

"Everything okay?" Sid said to Tanger when they were stretching out, Sid on his heel loosening his hamstring, Tanger doing some kind of shimmy he swore was a great back stretch but looked like a stripper move. Sid expected to be brushed off; instead Tanger fixed dark, sad eyes on him.

"Rossi's running a column saying we've offended the gods," he said, and Sid bit his tongue on a very nasty remark.

"He would," he settled on. "It's his usual level of accuracy. I wonder who his source is?"

Tanger snorted, and then looked guilty. Sid switched to his other heel, and waited.

"You don't believe him," Tanger said, finally.

"How would he know?" Sid shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. "If he's blaming the gods, that means he can't put his finger on anything we're doing wrong."

"Oh, he'll think of something." Tanger smiled, and his eyes were less shadowed. "Want to get dinner?"

"Let's get takeout and go to yours."

"You mean you want to dote on Alex."

"Well, yeah. I'm your captain, I've gotta make sure you're raising him right."

Duper was easier; Sid just skated up behind him during the shooting drill and shoved him in the back.

"Remember when you told me Rossi only writes fiction?"

"Oh, you've been eavesdropping." Duper turned to glare at him, but couldn't hold it. He grinned, and Sid grinned back. "Sure, whatever."

Sid studied him. Duper's smile seemed sincere enough, eyes creased up at the corner, but his hands fidgeted on his stick.

"I get it," he said finally. "It's okay, Dupes, you don't have to make excuses."

"What?" Duper's eyes narrowed, and Sid patted his shoulder.

"You're not as young as you were, it's natural to look for outside reasons for slowing down." He ladled on the false concern, and was ready for it when Duper tried to facewash him, skating back. "It happens to everyone, you know, you don't have to feel ashamed."

"I'll slow _you_ down," Duper said, laughter bubbling up, and he lunged at Sid, giving chase when Sid fled. It was the first time in weeks he'd felt that rush of pleasure when accelerating over the ice, and he blamed the uncontrollable giggle for his failure to evade Duper on the turn, getting a faceful of sweaty glove and instructions to say Duper was still young and beautiful before he was released to take his turn at shooting.

That sobered him, because Flower was too tense, too slow, face tight with concern as he went completely the wrong way after the puck.

"Come to dinner," he said to Flower at the end of practice. "We're going to get Lebanese, and play with Alex."

"Date night," Flower lied, like Sid didn't know Flower's schedule as well as his own. Vero had mother and baby yoga tonight, and Flower – Flower was probably going to mope. Or beat himself up with game tape, or any one of a thousand dumb, unhealthy things.

He'd call Lu, he resolved, and set him on Flower. A goalie might be able to get results where he couldn't.

Without Flower to back him up, he couldn't swing Lebanese; they compromised on Turkish, skewers of spiced charred meat that Alexander regarded with open suspicion.

"Just try a bite," Tanger crooned to him. "One bite, mon chou."

"He won't like it," Sid said around his mouthful. "It's too spicy for a little kid."

"Well, he won't like it if you tell him he won't like it," Tanger said. "Come on, petit. One bite, okay? Then there's rice."

Alex grudgingly accepted a tiny bite of Sid's lamb skewer. It wasn't as spiced as Tanger's, but Alex still made a terrible face.

"Chew, swallow," Tanger said firmly. "There's my good boy." He held up a forkful of rice temptingly, and Alex scrunched up his face and swallowed before reaching for the rice eagerly. "I hear it takes ten tries for a child to like something new."

"Maybe," Sid said. It had always taken him a lot longer than ten tries, but he was willing to accept he was an outlier. He watched Tanger put the fork into Alex's hand, rice spilling everywhere as Alex shoveled it into his mouth. He was the cutest kid, and Sid would probably keep thinking that until he saw Estelle, or one of the Dupuis kids.

One day; he'd spent enough time listening to Flower and Tanger complain to be convinced that waiting til after hockey was the right decision. Sure, he'd miss having his own kids in the stands, miss putting his own baby in the Stanley Cup, but it would be worth it to be there for the first smile, first step, first word.

Tanger let him put Alex to bed, lurking at his shoulder while Sid tucked him in and read a bedtime story, swooping in to plant his own kiss on Alex's plump cheek after Sid. 

"Game tape?" Tanger said, leading the way to the den, and Sid - really wanted to, actually, there were some things - but Tanger's shoulders were taking on a new rigidity, and Sid knew if they started, they'd keep going til the small hours, picking apart entire games.

"I want to play Call of Duty," he said instead, and Tanger snorted.

"Why, so you can suck at it?"

"I'm getting better," he protested. Tanger didn't even answer, just let out a derisive laugh as he stooped to get the controllers.

They conscientiously wrapped up at eleven, and Sid made sure to switch all the electronics off, so Tanger wouldn't be tempted to do just a bit of reviewing, while the TV was right there, still on.

The cold air was a slap in the face, and Sid didn't linger for goodbyes, hurrying down the driveway to his car. His windscreen was fogged with cold, and Sid switched the heating on. He reached into his pocket for his phone, warm from his body heat. 

His house would be big and empty; he could honestly say he lived there, this year, but he couldn't say he enjoyed it. He unlocked the phone and stared down at the Pens logo he kept as his background. Bland, uncontroversial, uninteresting. 

He could send Geno a text, and Geno would send him smiles and tell him to come over, and he could let Geno's presence comfort him, follow Geno to bed and sleep beside him.

But didn't need it. He just wanted it, and if he kept feeding the want, it would only grow. This wasn't the first time he'd thought of calling in the evening, but it was the first time he'd really been tempted, and that was probably a sign his morning visits had been too frequent.

Sid couldn't afford to become dependent on Geno. He had to be the captain, and that meant the team depended on him, not the other way around.

He plugged the phone into the handsfree kit, and dialled Lu, who picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, kid," and Sid's shoulders dropped at Lu's teasing tone. Lu didn't need a thing from him, settled happy in his new team, with his family, healthy and playing well. 

"Hi, Bobby," he said, and turned the key in the ignition before Tanger came out to see what was taking him so long.

 

Music woke him at 4am, and he blinked, disoriented, at his phone before realising he'd accidentally set yesterday's alarm to repeat. He switched it off, and settled back into his pillow, but he couldn't shift the faint unease.

"Ugh," he said into the darkness, and got out of bed. Some might have called it divine guidance, and certainly sports journalists wrote entire books on the deep bonds between teams. Sid was more inclined to believe a captain got to know his players, and that was why he wasn't at all surprised when he parked his car next to Flower's at the rink.

What did surprise him was seeing Geno's car there. He eyed it suspiciously, and couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd sent Geno that text asking to come over.

They were on the ice, Flower running his bare hands over the crossbar and posts. He might have been praying. Geno skated up and down the ice, just keeping warm; Sid watched from the tunnel, appreciative of the rare chance to admire him unobserved, the flexing muscles in his thighs clearly defined in his thin sweatpants. He hadn't bothered with pads or helmet, and his hair stuck out in a clear indication he also hadn't bothered with a comb after rolling out of bed in the pre-dawn.

Reasonably, Sid could hardly object to his goalie and 2C getting in some extra shooting practice. But he didn't think it was healthy for Flower to be doing this, and the fact Flower had kept it a secret from him suggested he knew that.

Unless, he thought suddenly, Flower thought _he_ was unlucky, and that sent a superstitious shiver down his spine. He was the one who'd started the great Penguin injury era, after all. That concussion had only been the first round in a long, painful parade.

It was a stupid idea, he _knew_ it was a stupid idea, but the fear he was somehow doing this to his team rose black and cloying in his throat. He retreated down the tunnel, only fear of discovery keeping him moving slow and quiet, and went to sit in his car, where he could panic in comfort.

Who knew why the gods did what they did? It was difficult enough to tell _what_ the gods did, distinguish between divine intervention, luck, or sheer human effort – or lack of effort. They liked victories. They liked sacrifices. They liked to be worshiped. Beyond that, very little was certain.

_You don't want the gods to notice you, kid_ , Mario had said once, warning Sid against too long spent at worship. _Do what's required, and do it sincerely, but don't go out of your way to draw their attention._.

Mario had had cancer, a bad back, a bad heart - had he been speaking from experience? But why would gods of hockey destroy hockey players? It made no sense.

Maybe it was payment; he'd won a Stanley Cup and a gold medal before the accident, after all. Maybe you could only fly so high before being cut down, and he remembered that ill-fated season, when he'd been near-unstoppable on the ice, so confident that he was only going to get better...

He'd been freaking out in his car for over half an hour, and he didn't want Flower or Geno to find him here. He started the car, and then, on a whim, parked it round the corner and got out.

No, not a whim. He wanted to see Geno.

He waited inside, in the shadowy corner of the lounge. The LEDs in the display cases cast sharp puddles of light, picking out jerseys, trophies, and the stylised modern altar that Dana took care of. It was inevitably far neater than the locker room altar, tended to by the players.

Flower left first, and he didn't look up from his feet as he stomped out. The practice clearly hadn't gone well.

Geno followed a few minutes later, hair damp, looking lost in thought. Sid took a malicious pleasure in making him jump with a sharp call of his name.

"Sid," Geno said, when he regained his breath. "Cruel." He didn't ask what Sid was doing there, just shoved his hands into his coat pockets and gave him a winning smile. "Coming home for nap?"

"Yeah," Sid said. "You can drive." Geno's eyebrows went up, but he didn't say anything.

Geno's car was cramped, and if Sid thought that, he couldn't imagine it was comfortable for Geno. But he loved his tiny impractical cars, and Sid wasn't about to argue with him over it.

"Does Flower think I'm unlucky?" he said at a red light, and then bit his lip. He'd meant to save that for after their nap – well, ideally, he'd wanted to not ask at all, but he'd abandoned that idea as soon as he'd left his car. Geno flicked him a sideways glance.

"Not say to me."

"He asked you to practice with him."

"Say he feel bad about making you do again. Not feel bad about getting me out of bed." Geno snorted, but Sid wasn't interested in their ongoing chirp battle right now.

"Feels bad? I'm the captain. It's my job."

"Do job best," Geno said, and let go of the gearstick for a second to pat Sid's knee. He wore his driving gloves, and Sid wanted to trace the stretch of the leather over the broad knuckles. "Maybe work too hard, sometime."

"The last thing Flower needs to worry about is me." Sid turned to look out of the window, streetlights and dark houses, and Geno hummed.

"Worrying about himself not help much."

"That's true," Sid said. Worth thinking about, in fact. He was still mulling it over when they pulled into Geno's driveway, and Geno ruffled his hair.

"No donuts," he said, sounding regretful. "Maybe you cook for me instead?"

"Right, because it's my job to feed you." Sid rested his head against the seat, watching Geno peel off his gloves and tuck them into the car door. "G. Do _you_ think I'm unlucky?"

"No," Geno said, unhesitating. "Best, Sid. Make us all better." He folded his hand round Sid's wrist, and shook him. "Dumb though. Dumbest."

He couldn't help turning his wrist to bring their palms together, and squeezing Geno's big, warm hand. He had such great hands.

"Come on," Geno tugged gently on their twined fingers. "Get sleep, stop thinking dumb thought."

"Drink water," Sid told him as they got into the hall, and Geno rolled his eyes. "You going to tell me you drank at the rink?"

"Might have," Geno said, kicking his sneakers into the corner. "You don't know." But he headed to the kitchen, and Sid sat down on the stairs to unlace his sneakers like a civilised person. And maybe, a little, to delay heading up the stairs alone. He wasn't quite bold enough to get into Geno's bed and wait for him.

Even getting undressed at the same time was weird, seemed more intimate than just crawling in at the tail-end of Geno's night. Nonsense, as they undressed in the same room most days, but with so few distractions he couldn't keep his gaze from drifting over to Geno's body, the muscles working in his back as he pulled on the t-shirt he'd picked off the rumpled bed.

Still, the sheets smelled the same, even if they were cool instead of warmed by Geno's body. The way Geno draped the quilt over them both was the same, and Sid cuddled close enough to feel his body heat without actually touching him.

"I was the first person to get injured, though," Sid said, and Geno sighed.

"Get hit in head, everyone say you're maybe never come back," he said. "Then you do, they say miracle."

"They'll say anything's a miracle," Sid said, because it was true. If you went by the press, miracles fell like rain. Geno raised his hand to Sid's cheek, cupped it gently, and Sid held his breath.

“Felt like a miracle, after we wait so long. Don't know why you think hitting your head curse, but getting better isn't miracle."

Sid huffed, and didn't turn his face to kiss Geno's wrist. His heart ached with the same wistful twist it did when he watched Tanger with Alexander; one day. Not today, but one day. Not Geno, but someone.

"Well, if you're going to bring logic into this," he managed finally, and Geno's face split into that irresistible smile. "You make us better too, G. I'm so glad you're with us. I couldn't – " he hesitated, and realised that wasn't going to be truthful. "I would hate doing this without you," he settled for, and Geno's smile turned smaller, fonder.

"Never have to," he promised, and that drained enough tension that Sid was able to sleep.

 

_I need to talk to you_ , Sid sent back when Flower denied him again. _I don't want to talk to Tanger about it_. There was a pause in the texting, and Sid could picture Flower's suspicious gaze, fingers hesitating over the touchscreen.

_Talk about what?_ came through finally, and Sid grinned the grin of a fisherman who'd hooked his prey.

_Nothing I'm putting in a text_

_Come over at noon and bring lunch_ Flower sent finally, and Sid fistpumped, almost punching the plate out of Geno's hands.

"You score?" Geno set the plate down beside him, and waggled his eyebrows.

"Only with Flower," and when Geno's mouth twitched, he added, "Not like that! I've got him to have lunch with me, is all."

"Good," was Geno's verdict. "You want me drive you?"

"Yeah," Sid said, and ignored the faint surprise on Geno's face. Usually he'd walk the short distance to his own place, and drive or cab from there; his team were nosy, and he didn't want to share his Geno situation with them.

Still didn't, really, but sometimes you have to work with what you've got.

Sure enough, when Geno pulled into Flower's drive, Flower himself peered out of the window with Estelle in his arms. His look of confusion grew as Geno drove off, but Sid ignored it, waving at Estelle until Flower remembered he had to let Sid in.

"Hi, loser. Oh, steal my baby, then. Did you get her some of those falafel she likes?" Sid handed over the bag so he could give Estelle his full attention, and followed Flower into the kitchen. It smelled of burnt wicks and incense.

He strapped Estelle into her high chair, humming agreement with her soft excited babble, and then spared some attention for the dogs. They were lurking under the table making the muffled excited noises of dogs who knew barking would get them scolded.

Flower was distracted for several minutes persuading his daughter to eat her falafel, rather than crumble them into tiny pieces, but then he settled his gaze on Sid accusingly.

"Why did Geno drop you off?"

"I was with him this morning," Sid said, and before Flower could demand more information, he added, "When I wake up feeling stressed, I go and get into bed with him."

Flower's mouth opened, and then slowly closed. Sid could almost see the considerations whirling behind his eyes.

"You," he started, then shook his head. "Are you guys... together?"

"No. It's not like that for him; he's just being supportive."

"But it's like that for you."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." It felt surprisingly good to come out and say it for the first time. "It's okay. I'm used to it. I'm just – trying not to get dependent on him, you know? He's going to get a girlfriend one of these days, and she probably won't want me getting into bed with them."

"You never know," Flower said, but his smile faded into consideration. "So – what are you doing?"

"I don't know," Sid admitted. "It's really easy to – " _to be in love with him_ \- "To be fond of him, you know? But the more time I spend with him, the more I want, and one day I'm going to ask for more than he wants to give."

"So he doesn't know?"

"I don't think so." He remembered Geno's hand curling tenderly round his cheek. That wasn't how you touched someone you knew had a crush on you. "What do you think I should do?"

"You're asking me for advice?" Flower clicked his tongue. "It must be bad."

"It's not bad," Sid said. He already felt lighter just for having it out there, having Flower treat it as – if not normal, just another Sidney Crosby problem. "I'm happy when I'm with him, you know? It's just that it can't go on forever." Estelle offered him a handful of falafel, and he accepted it gravely, and gave her some lettuce in return. Flower was deep in thought, and for the first time in a while, he didn't look beaten down. This was a good idea for both of them, Sid thought, and he smiled widely at Estelle, who giggled at him.

"You could tell him," Flower said at last, and Sid wrinkled his nose. "Then he'd set some boundaries, you know?"

"I guess," Sid drew out the word, considering. He'd kept this secret since it was just a seed; he'd never planned to share it at all. "You don't think he'd be mad?"

"Tell him you've just been realising this, maybe," Flower said. "He'll be pleased you trusted him, I think."

Judging from Flower's reaction to being trusted with it, Sid had to believe that was true. He might have to tell a few more people, just to help their morale – but Geno might not like it being well-known, of course. Well, he'd give it some consideration.

"He might not let me nap with him any more," Sid said.

"Nap!" Estelle echoed, and Flower jumped.

"Oh yeah. Hang on, let me put her down. You get cranky if you don't get your nap, don't you? Just like Uncle Sid." Estelle cackled just like Flower at that, and Sid made a ludicrous pouty face at her, prolonging her laughter until she wheezed for air.

Flower lingered after he'd tucked her in, watching her little chest rise and fall under the patchwork quilt. Her nose scrunched up, as if she were disgusted by the weakness of sleep, but her hands were already loosening on her stuffed penguin.

"She's the best, isn't she?" he said softly. "Vero and I are talking about trying again soon."

"She really is." Sid nudged him gently. "She must take after Vero."

"Shut up, you love me. I'm your favourite goalie." He turned, and put his arms round Sid's shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. "You can nap with me and Vero if Geno kicks you to the kerb," he said, and Sid muffled his laugh in Flower's shoulder so he wouldn't wake Estelle.

"You can add spice to your marriage without me, thanks," he said, but squeezed Flower until he grunted.

"How dare you. Our marriage is extremely spicy, and - "

"No, I'm not listening." Sid extracted himself and made for the stairs, covering his ears to block out whatever Flower was saying about discreet packaging.

"The other option is not telling him," Flower said as he rinsed the dishes. Sid rummaged through the refrigerator; it looked like yoghurt was the only dessert option, which meant Flower was getting strict with his diet.

"Mm?" he said, poking at the eggs and wondering if he could talk Flower into making pancakes. Estelle would be thrilled if she woke up to pancakes, after all.

"You could not tell him, and make the most of the hugs and stuff while you can. Sure, it'll suck when he finally cuts you off, but that's always going to suck, isn't it?" It wasn't exactly pity in Flower's voice, but it was close enough Sid wanted to squirm away from it. He reminded himself that getting Flower out of his own head was the goal here, and if that meant a little bit of exposure, well. It was an acceptable price to pay.

"Yeah."

"I'm assuming you've tried cutting out the naps without telling him?"

"I don't have much willpower at 6am," Sid admitted. It was easy to feel lonely before the sun rose.

"Yeah. I don't know, Sid. You've got to do what's best for you, but I don't know what that is." Flower pushed the refrigerator door shut, and handed him a banana. "Here, stop searching for chocolate."

"Ugh," Sid said, but it was better than yoghurt, just. "I kind of think I'd like to tell him. Is that selfish, though? I don't want to make him feel weird."

"Nah. He thinks everyone should be in love with him. He'll take it in stride, probably."

 

_If I come over for my nap will you drive me to the game?_ Sid sent. He'd already directed the cab to take him to Geno's, but he relaxed a little when Geno sent him agreement.

Geno was already in bed, but he had a book open; he liked to wind down before sleeping, unlike Sid, who could usually drop off in minutes. He maintained he read the classics, but Sid judged the covers to be more like shitty airport thrillers.

"Can we talk?" Sid said, mentally cursing the cliche even as it slipped out. Geno put the book aside, looking expectant.

"Talk with Flower good?"

"I told him that I'm,” Sid licked his lips, and plunged on, “Kind of crazy about you." Geno's face – changed, and then changed again, settling into a neutral expression. Sid had no idea what he was thinking. "We talked about it, and Flower said maybe I should tell you, so you could decide – well, if you were comfortable with napping, or whatever."

"Is okay," Geno said, at once. His mouth hung open for a moment, as if he were considering his words, and then he shrugged. "Just nap, yes? Is good."

"Good," Sid said, feeling the same lift of weight he'd felt when he'd told Flower. The corner of his mouth hitched up. "That's really good, G. I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier, but – "

"Is hard, I know," Geno said, and threw back the quilt. "Nap, now. Game tonight."

"Okay." Sid peeled out of his clothes, wondering if Geno was being especially pointed about not looking at him. "You should tell me if I do anything that makes it weird, okay? Ever."

"You always weird," Geno chirped, lightly, and Sid decided not to push it, settling in beside him. Geno touched his shoulder. "Is okay. We're okay," he said. Sid nodded, and closed his eyes. Geno cupped his cheek for the briefest moment, and then he pulled away and settled down, warm and familiar.

 

They didn't win; they didn't play so bad, but the bounces went against them, and the fourth line had some kind of existential crisis that allowed two goals in two minutes. Flower was bright-eyed, though, cussing the defence, the refs, and ice in sequence. Tanger laughed at him, subdued but genuine, and the locker room didn't feel despairing any more.

"We'll get them next time," Sid said, meaninglessly, to general agreement. He looked around for Geno, and found Geno already watching him, smiling. He smiled back, like he always did, helplessly fond.

Like always, he was last out, and he hesitated in the parking lot, suddenly recalling that Geno had driven him – but Geno's car headlights flashed at him, and he walked over.

"Ride home?" he said, already settling into the passenger seat, and Geno shook his head, eyes bright with mischief. "Oh, what now?"

"Think maybe you come home with me?" he said. Sid opened his mouth, but Geno wasn't done. "Cuddle, maybe."

"Cuddle?" Sid said, after a long moment.. Flower had said Geno would set boundaries, but that was far from anything Sid had considered. 

"I think for a long time, you best, you number one, you most important for hockey." Geno fixed his most terribly earnest gaze on Sid, the one that always made his heart tighten. "And you sleep in my bed, and I'm not mind. I'm like it a lot. And you say – crush. And I'm happy."

"You," Sid licked his lips. "What are you saying, G?"

"Think I would like to cuddle," Geno said. He rested his hand on Sid's knee, warmth bleeding through Sid's pants. "Not sure, after that. Make out. Maybe I won't like, but. Think I will."

Sid knew, full well, that if falling for a straight guy was dumb, being his experiment was even dumber. But – who knew their luck, really. Maybe once in a while, something could work out easy. He covered Geno's hand with his, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Let's give it a try, then," he said, and Geno grinned at him, and started the car.


End file.
